The redhead was far from unattractive. She was perhaps twenty years
old, and was about five feet in height, and was nicely built. Medium
breasts, narrow waist, nice hips, excellent legs. And those lovely
muscles rippling in her back and buttocks. What's more, she didn't seem
to be spoken for--Keyes didn't appear to have any proprietary rights on
her--and so I could assume she was available until I learned otherwise.
And, all things considered, I figured I would rather be mixed up with
a nice, healthy chick like the waitress than with a passionate but
whacked-up female like Bonnie. And the best way to get rid of Bonnie
was to transfer my affections visibly to some other female.
Fast. Before Bonnie got the idea she owned me.
Bonnie came back with the tennis ball and started to go into a serve
motion, but I was facing the wrong way, watching the neat way the
redhead's high pointed breasts lifted as she brought the racquet
around. Bonnie yelled out to me pretty annoyedly, and I returned my
attention to her.
We volleyed for five or ten minutes, and then I turned to the pair on
the other court and said, "Hey! How about a game of mixed doubles?"
Bonnie looked sour, but both Keyes and the redhead thought it was a
fine idea. Keyes was down at the far end of the court, Bonnie's end,
and so I maneuvered it that he and Bonnie would be partners, and the
redhead and I. She came jogging over--_bounce-bounce-bounce_ went the
bosom, and as she came close I realized that what I had thought was
a solid tan was actually a mass of extremely tight-packed freckles
covering her entire body. She even had freckles on her breasts.
"Hi," I said. "My name's Al Fieldston."
"Harriet Cross," she said. She leaned on her racquet and caught her
breath. She had been running around a lot in the game with Keyes,
and her freckled skin was glossy with sweat, and I saw shiny little
beadlets between her breasts.
Down at her end of the court, Bonnie was getting very very
bleak-looking. I guess she figured out what was going to happen, and
she didn't like it.
We volleyed back and forth for a while, getting the feel of a doubles
match, and then we volleyed for serve. One, two, three over the net,
and then Bonnie rammed one viciously past Harriet and they had the
serve.
Harriet was something of a weak link on our side, as was Keyes over
there. We began playing more and more seriously with each point. With
Keyes serving, they got up to 30-love; we caught them; they went ahead,
and finally took the first game.
They took the second game, too, and the third. But I got the hang of
serving in the fourth and surprised them all by slapping a bunch of
bullets down where they couldn't even reach them. We took the fifth
game, too, and now the set stood 2-3, and it was taking on the aspects
of a grudge match. Every time we made a point, I would pat Harriet
affectionately on the shoulder, or sometimes a little lower. Bonnie was
stewing. She knew she was being dumped in favor of the redhead.
In the sixth game something happened which might seem funny in the
retelling, but which does not seem funny to me because of the strange
consequences it was to have. The score stood at 30-all, Keyes was
serving, and we were desperately trying to pick up the next couple of
points and tie the set.
Harriet was playing in close to the net, and I was back near the
base-line. Bonnie dropped a soft lob right in the middle. I came
rushing in from the back of the court, determined to powder the ball
right down Keyes' throat and put us one up.
But just as I brought my racquet around in a vicious swing, Harriet
cut in front of me unexpectedly to take the ball. She banged it into
the net--and at the same instant, unable to check my swing, I sent my
racquet crashing with a loud _crack!_ right into what would have been
the seat of the redhead's pants, if she had happened to be wearing any
pants.
She dropped her racquet and let out a little gasp of surprise and pain,
and the force of the blow knocked her sprawling on her knees. There's
always something funny about a swat in the pants, but I knew I had
swung to kill, and I knew I had hurt her. As she kneeled there, I could
actually see the imprint of my strings on her freckled buttocks. Her
rear was up in the air facing me, and it looked like she'd been sitting
on a hot waffle-iron.
I rushed over to her and helped her to her feet and muttered
apologies, even though it had been mostly her fault. "Are you hurt?" I
asked.
She turned. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. "I'll be
okay."
And I saw the expression on her face.
Remember the come-hither look that Sandra Richards gave me when I was
at her folks' house for my interview? This was the same look raised to
the fifth power. It was a sizzling look of pure desire. It was a look
of hungry longing. Harriet was asking me with her eyes to throw her
down on the rough clay and take her right there, on the spot.
It was one hell of a look.
I suppose my brain wasn't working too well, or I would have connected
the intensity of that look with the intensity of the wallop I had given
her. But I just didn't make the obvious connection, even when it was
staring me in the face.
Instead I gently stroked her buttocks a couple of times, soothingly.
The skin was like satin. I muttered some more apologies. By this time
Bonnie and Keyes were coming around the net, looking worried.
Harriet picked up her racquet, brushed the dirt off her knees and
the palms of her hands, and walked around a little bit. She wasn't
badly hurt. My racquet had nipped her in the best-padded part of her
body, and the only harm was the sudden stinging pain of impact. The
waffle-iron effect was fading, though her rear still had a reddened,
sore look about it.
She insisted she was okay, and we got the game going again. But the
look she had given me bothered me. I told myself I had better slow
down. This was only my first full day in the Sunland Health Colony, and
already I had made passes at two girls, been laid by a third, and now
was in the process of getting involved with a fourth. At this rate it
was going to be a strenuous three months.
I couldn't keep my mind on the game, and Bonnie and Keyes easily
polished us off for the final point and the set. They were all keen
on playing another set, but I begged off. Harriet, too, didn't seem
very enthusiastic. She was still sore in the rear, and wanted to dunk
herself in the lake.
She started off toward the water. I began to follow her. Bonnie caught
up with me. Now she looked a lot closer to forty than thirty.
"Let's play a game of singles," she said.
"I'd rather not. I'm not in shape for too much of this stuff."
"Besides which, you'd rather go swimming with Harriet than play tennis
with me."
"Bonnie, look--"
"I _am_ looking. I've seen you looking at that girl since we came down
here. I saw the way you patted her fanny after you hit her."
"You've got no right to be jealous," I told her. "Harriet's a fine
girl, and I like her."
"What about me?" It was practically a wail.
I didn't have to pretend to be annoyed. "We've had our little
interlude, Bonnie. What did you think it was--the beginning of a grand
romance?"
"We were so good together," she sobbed. The bulging eyes had the look
of defeat.
"It was grand, Bonnie. But I'm not here to get entangled with anybody.
I value my freedom. And I think it's best that I make things clear to
you right now. Our little episode at lunchtime is _not_ the prelude to
a long affair."
"But I want you so much, Al!"
"You see? I don't want to be wanted. Let's be sophisticated, Bonnie. We
can make love now and then, when we've got the craving. But let's not
try to monopolize each other, shall we? Let's be free agents. Will you
excuse me now? I'd like to go swimming."
I gave her Ernie Bryan's tennis racquet and left her standing there,
looking dumfounded. I trotted down to the water. Harriet was already
in, floating on her back. Nothing was above the water except her
breasts and toes and nose. I dove in and came up near her.
"How's the backside?" I asked.
"I'm going to be black and blue tomorrow. Everyone will ask questions."
"So tell them," I said. She laughed. We swam out to the deep water
together. We were bobbing out there, and suddenly she swam up against
me, pressing her body against mine in the water. The sharp points
of her breasts jabbed into my skin, and her legs wrapped themselves
around my body, and she took my hands and put them on her buttocks and
made me squeeze tight. Wrapped up like that, we sank below the water
and hovered just beneath the surface until we started running out of
breath. We separated and popped to the surface. She had a slit-eyed,
excited look about her. I suppose what she wanted was to have me make
love to her right there in the water. But the combination of the cold
water and the bout with Bonnie only a few hours earlier, plus the fact
that there were about a dozen swimmers less than a hundred yards away,
left me in a state of inability to gratify her desire on the spot.
We laughed and swam in to shore, and sprawled out, dripping wet, on
the grass near the basketball court. We talked for a while. She was
twenty-two, she said--which made her a couple of years older than she
looked--and she had just graduated from a nearby teacher's college. She
was going to start teaching in the fall, and this was her vacation. She
loved outdoor life, sports, camping, stuff like that.
"How'd you get interested in nudism?" I asked her.
She giggled. "I came here as a guest last year. A fellow I was dating
was a member, and he talked me into coming up. At first I was so
embarrassed I didn't know where to hide. But finally I got up enough
nerve to take my clothes off and come out of the cabin. And after half
an hour I discovered it doesn't really matter. I mean, we shouldn't
have inhibitions about nakedness."
"No, we shouldn't."
"So I was up here a couple of weeks and really got to love the life.
And this year I wanted to come back. I didn't have any money, so I
applied for a job as a waitress. It's only a few hours' work a day, and
all the rest of the time I'm free to use the facilities."
"What about the boyfriend?"
"Oh, I stopped seeing him a long time ago. He isn't a member of the
colony any more, either." She smiled coquettishly. "Now tell me about
yourself, Al."
So I told her, giving her the usual routine about the advertising
rat-race and how I had come up here seeking rustic simplicity as a
backdrop for writing my novel. She was impressed. We talked on and on,
and then all of a sudden it was five in the afternoon and she had to
hurry to the mess hall to get the tables set up for dinner.
I walked her part of the way back up front. She drew me off into a
little sheltered nook near the mess hall and we kissed quickly. It had
to be quick, because a public embrace violated the decency regulations
of the camp, and she could get fired if anyone caught her and
complained. But she thrust herself up against me, rubbing against me,
thrusting her breasts into my not unwilling hands. We kissed briefly
and then she was gone, running gracefully toward the mess hall like
some wood sprite, with her shimmering red hair bobbing in the air as
she ran.
I found that this time I had become somewhat aroused. I had to remain
in the nook for a couple of moments while my excitement subsided and I
became fit to go into public again.
I strolled back down the road that led from the mess hall to the
cabins. The air was growing cooler, and I was wondering whether or not
it would be necessary to dress for dinner.
I was just about to go back to my cabin when I heard a "Yoo-hoo, Al!"
cry, and saw Joanie Baker come jogging toward me. I waited, watching
the ever-fascinating action of her breasts as she ran.
She caught up. "I see you took my advice about Bonnie," she said.
"How do you know so fast?"
Joanie smiled. "Bonnie just complained to me about you. She said you
offended her by engaging in an indecent action with Harriet Cross on
the tennis court. If Bonnie's out to get your scalp so fast, it means
you must have told her off."
"I did," I said. "But what about this complaint?"
"Oh, we never take Bonnie's complaints seriously. We know it's always
a case of jealously. She says you were patting Harriet's bottom on the
tennis court. Dr. Richards feels that there shouldn't be any public
personal contact between the sexes here, and I agree with him. Were you
actually doing what Bonnie said you were?"
I grinned. "Bonnie didn't tell you the full story. Harriet and I were
playing mixed doubles and she got in the way of my racquet. I caught
her on the rear end so hard I knocked her down. I thought she was hurt,
and all I did was pick her up and pat her once or twice to take the
sting out."
"The way Bonnie had it, you were all set to rape the girl on the
court," Joanie said. "Well, naturally there won't be any action taken
against you. I wish Dr. Richards would bring himself to throw Bonnie
out. She causes more conflict around here every year, with her spites
and jealousies--"
"She's a sick woman," I said solemnly. "Dr. Richards is being kind to
her."
"Dr. Richards is kind to everybody. _Too_ kind. Well, thank goodness
he's coming up here tomorrow. I'm tired of being responsible for
everything around here." She smiled cheerfully. "Better bring a sweater
with you tonight at dinner time. It gets rather chilly here sometimes
in June."
"Thanks," I said.
But she was already gone, striding from me in her long-legged masculine
step. She looked like an Amazon, or a lady Viking, with her blonde hair
and her magnificent animal body. Once again, I sighed. It was cruel
and unusual torture for a girl as beautiful as Joanie to go striding
around the place with all her glorious skin exposed, and for her to be
as unapproachable as she was. _What a waste_, I thought. _What a lousy
waste of good womanflesh._